


A Place For Us

by littlebirdfalling



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Trans Claquesous, Trans Male Character, angst BUT THEN IT GETS BETTER, but I love my murder sons, this is my first time writing them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 20:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14679201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebirdfalling/pseuds/littlebirdfalling
Summary: "Claquesous tumbles through the open window of Montparnasse’s bedroom and brushes the leaves out of his hair, his expression stormy and his mouth bleeding."In which Montparnasse is sick of Claquesous being hurt-and he proposes a solution.





	A Place For Us

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I was sad about failing my math test-but this definitely helped.

Claquesous tumbles through the open window of Montparnasse’s bedroom and brushes the leaves out of his hair, his expression stormy and his mouth bleeding. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” Montparnasse asks. He’s unsurprised when Claquesous doesn’t respond-he rarely does, but Montparnasse keeps asking anyway.    
“Just give me the first aid kit.” Claquesous grumbles, looking away. Now that he’s in the light, Montparnasse can see the bruise like a shadow on his cheekbone, the swollen redness of his eyes.    
“I’ll be right back.” Montparnasse sighs. It’s past three in the morning, so everyone will be asleep. He doesn’t dare turn on the light in the kitchen, knowing that it will wake up Feuilly, who’s bedroom is just off the kitchen. Luckily, he knows where the first aid kit is by now, and he retrieves it off the bottom shelf with ease, managing not to knock down anything in the process. Getting an icepack from the freezer is harder, but he manages to open the freezer with minimal noise, grab the icepack, and close the door before the light inside can flicker on. Having accomplished this, he sneaks out of the kitchen and steals back into his bedroom, his steps silent on the carpeted stairs.    
Claquesous is cross legged on his floor, toying with the frayed hem of his shirt and staring into the distance. Montparnasse takes comfort in the fact that he doesn’t appear to be wearing his binder, because he knows Claquesous probably ran here, and he really doesn’t feel like taping up broken ribs tonight.    
“Look up.” Montparnasse says, kneeling down in front of Claquesous with the first aid kit. Claquesous doesn’t respond, his gaze unfocused, and Montparnasse snaps his fingers. “Sous.” This gets his attention, and he looks up at Montparnasse. The bruise on his cheekbone is already darkening, and Montparnasse gently presses the icepack to it. Claquesous knows the drill, he reaches up to hold it against his cheekbone, and Montparnasse busies himself tearing open an alcohol wipe.   
“He found the binder.” Claquesous says, and Montparnasse’s head snaps up.   
“What?”   
“My dad. That fucking asshole tore through my room, and found my binder.”  His gaze meets Montparnasse’s. It’s angry, and defiant, as if daring Montparnasse to pity him. Montparnasse isn’t going to make that mistake.   
“Douchebag.” He mutters, and carefully presses the alchohol wipe to Claquesous’s torn lip. He jerks away with a hiss, and Montparnasse rolls his eyes. “Get back here, you baby, it’s just a little fucking sting.” This time, he puts his hand on Claquesous’s jaw to keep him still. Claquesous flinches, but doesn’t move away, and Montparnasse manages to get most of the blood off. “You’ll be fine.” He decides, sitting back. “You’ll have a nasty scab, but it doesn’t need stitches or anything.”

“Good.” Claquesous mutters. “Got an extra shirt?” He motions to the bloodstains on his, and Montparnasse nods.    
“Gimme a sec.” He comes up with a three sizes too big MCR shirt-Claquesous doesn’t like tight clothes, especially when he isn’t binding. “Here.” He tosses it to Claquesous, who strips out of his shirt without delay. There are bruises blooming on his back, dark and striking against his pale skin. “Shit, Sous-“   
“It’s fine.” Claquesous mutters, yanking the shirt over his head. “I can deal with a couple bruises.”    
“What did he do to you?” Montparnasse asks, feeling anger start to boil up inside him. Now that Claquesous’s injuries have been treated, he can feel his worry turning into fury.    
“I said it’s fucking fine, Montparnasse, jesus. I would’ve gone to Babet if I thought you’d be like this.”   
“I’m gonna fucking murder him.” Montparnasse growls.   
“And send me into foster care? You better fucking not.”“You could live with Babet-“   
“The ex-con with no familial relations to me and a history of drug abuse? Oh, I’m sure the courts will love that.” Claquesous says. At least the sarcasm is familiar, more like Claquesous, and Montparnasse can feel some of the tension draining out of him.   
“Hmph.” He mutters. “It’s still bullshit.”    
“It’s fine.” Claquesous sighs. “I’m fine, Montparnasse.”   
“And what if you weren’t?” Montparnasse asks. “What if-what if he had-“ He sits down hard on his bed. “What if he had actually killed you this time?” Claquesous snorts, sitting down next to him.   
“Like I’d let him.”    
“I’d kill him, you know.” Montparnasse says, lowly. “If he ever-I would end him.”   
“I know.” Claquesous says. Unbidden, Montparnasse’s hand reaches out to his, clutches it tightly. Neither of them says anything for a long moment. Normally Sous would tease him, tell him to stop being so emotional, or so needy, but they’re both shaken up tonight.   
Somehow, they find themselves resting against Montparnasse’s headboard, sharing a pair of headphones as some too loud song from a musical Claquesous likes blares.    
“Lets run away.” Montparnasse says, pulling the headphone out of his ear. “Let’s go, lets go right now, somewhere our parents will never be able to find us.”   
“Okay, parnasse.” Claquesous snorts.   
“I’m serious” Montparnasse says. “We could go. We could leave and they’d never find us.”   
“You wouldn’t do it.” Claquesous says.    
“Course I would.”   
“Really? You’d leave behind Feuilly, and Ep? What about Guel, Babet, Faunt?”   
“We don’t need them.” Montparnasse says. “Any of them. We just need us.”   
“You sound crazy.” Claquesous says, dismissively, and Montparnasse sighs. He’s probably right. He shoves the headphone back in his ear. “Where would we even go, anyway?” He asks after a moment. Montparnasse grins.   
“Anywhere. Anywhere at all.”

“You’re insane.” Claquesous says, wonderingly. “You’re batshit insane.” He grins widely. “Let’s do it.” Montparnasse stares at him, wide eyed, for a long moment.

“Seriously?” Claquesous nods, his eyes glinting with a spark Montparnasse hasn’t seen in a while. He grabs his face to pull Claquesous in for an ecstatic, passionate kiss. 

“Fucking finally.” Claquesous breathes, pulling away. “Asshat.”

“Dickhead.” Montparnasse grins. “Lets go.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

 

Montparnasse: come outside

Montparnasse: we’re going. coming or not?

Gueulemer: obviously coming where are we going

Babet: What the fuck is this about

Fauntleroy: I’m in, lets go

Babet: Be out in five, you assholes need some supervision. Where are you going??

Montparnasse: anywhere, babet. Anywhere at all. 

Montparnasse: we’re going to find a place for us


End file.
